


The Hundredth

by greerwatson



Category: 99 Red Balloons (Song)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:05:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Nena's song, "99 Luftballons".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hundredth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lsellers (Annariel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annariel/gifts).



> **Prompt:** I'd love some world-building capturing the atmosphere of the song: red balloon(s), apocalypse and hope. You could retell the song, or describe the aftermath, or be tangentially inspired by it or maybe Red Balloon POV! Gen, Friendship or any type of romance are fine though I prefer fade-to-black to adult rated and I dislike non-con.

  
**The Hundredth**   


It lay there in the corner, blown by the wind. I was just passing, down the street where no one has built yet. Never go there by night, of course—not considering those who hang out there. In the day it’s all right, as long as you keep an eye out; and the route’s a lot shorter. Not so great to look at maybe, with the broken buildings still gaping to the sky, where people haven’t robbed them out for bricks and wood. Still, it’s a short cut.

So, as I say, I was heading along, minding my own business—and keeping an eye out for those who’d like to mind it for me—when I spotted the balloon. Not something you see much, balloons. (Who can afford them nowadays?) But I knew it from the pictures in the books at school.

It lay there, drooping a little from lost air, wedged in a corner where the wind had blown it. I can only think it had come from some children’s party on the ritz side of town, tugged out of a crying kid’s hand, flown up into the blue, blue sky. And come down here, about as far away as you can get from where it started—far in every way but geography. Yeah, there are still parts of town where things are almost the way they used to be. Before the war, before the bombs. Before _my_ time or yours (or even my Mum’s, for that matter).

Once upon a time, long long ago, when the world was dark and simple, there was a silly sort of accident. That’s about the short of it, isn’t it? A silly sort of accident.

And the world came to an end.

Well, _their_ world came to an end. The planet kept going (as it always does); and the human race kept going, what was left of it. Folks even managed to make a future for themselves (as folks always do, if they aren’t dead).

So here we are.

I thought of you when I saw the balloon, and wished you could be here—even if “here” isn’t as great as the world must have been in once-upon-a-time. So I walked over the broken bricks, through what was left of the house (no roof, no walls), and picked it up. Picked out the knot that tied it, carefully. Blew it back up, bright and round and tight.

And let it go.

If it comes to you, with a wish, send it back.


End file.
